From start to finish
by Nightfancy
Summary: The day Hershel Layton became an archaeology professor...came to an abrupt end. Game 3 spoilers.


**A/N:** _Hey. No, I'm not dead. No I haven't stopped writing Layton fanfic. I just haven't felt like posting lately. I actually wrote this one a few months ago—but recent events have brought all these "man-I-really-REALLY-wish-things-weren't-like-this" feelings back to the surface again.;x; Life isn't fair and I can't tell you how much I can't stand that fact. x_x Please enjoy this alternate take._

Since she was already late, she had supposed being a bit later wouldn't matter but he had intervened—when he was able to pull himself together again of course.

"I'll…I'll take you," he said as she neared the door; the newfound weight of the hat was still affecting his voice.

She smiled. His presence of mind all but fled. "Thank you, Hershel." He led her to the door, pausing to put her lab coat on her. She didn't say anything, but the semi-permanent blush on his face seemed to somehow transfer to hers. "Thanks," she finally said once the coat was on, and he turned off the lights and locked the door behind them as they exited.

The drive there was silent, but once they reached the building three minutes later, she spoke up. "Thank you, Hershel," she repeated gratefully, grabbing her bag and swinging it on her shoulder. She seemed to hesitate for the briefest of moments and then managed to shock him a second time within the span of fifteen minutes. She crept closer to him and kissed him goodbye.

It drove him nuts; it was over before he even had a proper chance to respond. He opened his eyes to see her smiling at him again, the blush now fully overwhelming her cheeks.

"I'll see you tonight," she breathed, placing her hand on his arm and squeezing it. "I'm _so_ proud and excited for you, Hershel! We'll go out to dinner tonight—wherever you want, the choice is yours."

All at once, Hershel could see the beginnings of a very different plan forming in his mind; an intention of making this night belong to her as much as it did him. "A—Alright," he agreed a bit weakly, but he too was smiling. "I'll be here at the…" he swallowed, "usual time."

"I'll call you if I can get away sooner than that, but if the experiment's successful they'll likely give us a break…They've been working us to the bone in there," she said ruefully, making a cute incline of her head toward the building, but she was grinning.

"Alright, the usual time unless otherwise notified," Hershel repeated in a professional tone.

Claire laughed. "Okay, you can stop teasing me; I'll get out of the car…"

"Claire…"

He placed his hand on her arm when she was halfway out the door. She stopped and looked at him.

Her gaze almost caused the words to permanently lodge in his throat. "G—Good luck in there," he finally managed.

"Thank you," she beamed. "I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight," Hershel echoed, and watched as she made her way up the drive and toward the science department's impressive double doors.

"Tonight," he said to himself again as she disappeared within the building. He pulled away and made another stop on the way home—perhaps it was on a senseless whim, but finally purchasing that ring never felt more right than it did in that moment.

It was on his way back to his car that the blast occurred.

.∆.

He couldn't breathe. He was a man of persistent optimism…but somehow _he knew_ even though he desperately prayed for the otherwise. Hershel wasn't a religious man; more of a man of science than theology…but he was willing to suspend his lack of belief for a moment, like he could wish everything okay just by sheer force of will. _Don't be that building. __**Please**__ don't be that building…_

He sped the car through intersection after intersection, ignoring traffic lights as he sailed heedlessly through—but soon the traffic came to a standstill, with many people having been on their way back to work after their lunch break. They had heard and felt the blast as well. Some of them had climbed out of their cars to take a closer look. A small crowd had formed beyond the stalled cars in the street—but curling around the curve, Hershel could see the blackened smoke even from here and felt his mouth go dry. Okay. Something _had_ gone wrong…but she would be okay. She _had_ to be. There was no room for the alternative. He was going to propose. She was going to say yes. They were going to marry. He modified his desperate pleadings: _Let her be okay. __**Please**__ let her be okay…_

Hershel too climbed out of his car and felt his knees go weak. He was less than a hundred yards away but the air was already thick with smoke—or maybe anxiety had stolen his breath. He couldn't be sure. He covered his mouth and nose with the collar of his coat, trying to ignore the way the smell stung his eyes and burned his throat. If _he_ was having trouble breathing even from here…_**Let**_ _her be okay…_

All of a sudden, he _had_ to know. The desire had somehow become an urgent, indisputable need. Ignoring the nausea building at the back of his throat, Hershel made his way toward the front of the crowd; anxious to question an officer to know if anyone had been recovered alive.

It seemed like everyone was speaking at once.

"I was at the café with Diana—good thing we decided to stay for dessert. We would've passed just as it went off."

"It looks awful. Was it terrorists?"

"I heard someone say it came from within the building. Isn't that part of the Gressenheller's extended campus? But I thought there wasn't school this week…"

Hershel couldn't make his voice answer in affirmative. But Claire was in research—her schedule didn't mirror a student's.

"It came from _within?"_ the second voice raised, his reaction surprised yet horrified.

"If it was terrorists they picked the wrong week entirely—it was probably just an accident," said a fourth. "I mean, don't they try to take out as many as possible in one go? Because a failed first attempt means tightened security and it'd be extremely difficult to make a secondary strike—"

Hershel couldn't listen to anymore. He had to find an officer. He had to know she was alive. He needed to know it more than he needed to breathe.

Near the front of the crowd a few women he didn't recognize were crying. He clenched his teeth—_no_. No tears. They'd cloud his rationale. "Please try to remain calm, ladies," an officer was saying. "It looks a lot worse than it is. That's how it usually goes with these things…" Privately, Hershel disagreed, but decided to question this man anyway.

"Officer? Were there any…" he choked, swallowed, and finally said, "c-casualties?"

"Eh?" The man in uniform turned to him. "Excuse me a moment, ladies," he nodded toward them and walked with Layton a short distance away.

"_Yes,"_ he grimly confirmed, his demeanor making a complete 180. "I wouldn't want to worry the womenfolk more, but there were definitely two so far. Estimates have it at ten, perhaps fifteen. It's a miracle it wasn't even a week ago—it would've been in the hundreds…"

_Ten? Perhaps fifteen?_ His lungs filled with blades of ice, but apart from that, feeling left his body entirely.

"D-Do you have any names, Officer?" he asked. The officer raised a wary eyebrow. _"I—Please—"_

"Calm down, lad, calm down…Just promise not to release this information…" And when Layton gave his word, the officer said, "A couple in the adjacent flat north of the lab…I think their last name is Nott? They both seemed to be mid-twenties, early thirties…"

Layton relaxed the tiniest bit, but his heart turned cold at one word. "…Lab?" he questioned hesitantly.

"Physics lab," the officer harshly confirmed again. "It received the brunt of the damage—at first glance it appears that the explosion turned in on itself somehow, but we'll have to wait for the official investigation to be entirely sure. It still could have been a lot worse…"

"Constable Noor!" someone called. "We've got three confirmed now!"

Layton felt the blood drain from his face. The third…The third was… He felt himself sink bonelessly to the ground…

"'What'd I tell you about shouting information?!" Noor roared. "When you've got news like that—_give it to me __**personally**_, you idiot! Don't shout it so the whole world can hear!"

"I'm sorry, Constable. I just wanted your information current!"

"I'll knock you down a few departments and make _you_ current you _current _waste of space! How about janitorial work for the rest of your miserable life?!" Noor left Layton behind to give his officer-in-training a stern talking-to, but Layton didn't even need the name. He knew without a doubt the third find was Claire. She was at the very heart of the physics department. There was no way she could have…

The smoke hardly bothered him now, but he felt like he was drowning out at sea. And he had insisted he drive her there too…had she walked…

Tears finally sprang to his eyes and he gripped the brim of his top hat. Thirty minutes ago, she had touched that very same hat. Twenty-seven minutes ago, she had kissed him goodbye and promised to see him later that night. Now that…that was…

Twenty-two minutes ago, he had bought her a ring. Twenty minutes ago he had been content with his life and everything in it. Could he have nothing? What had he done to deserve this?

Nineteen minutes ago, she had been alive.

There was suddenly a flurry of activity just beyond the police caution tape. He didn't have to stand to know what it was, but still…something propelled him to his feet. He just…he had to know. He had to see her. Even if—

"Look here, you can't cross the line!" an officer yelled, barring the way of the growing curious crowd with his arms, Layton finding himself among them. "It isn't safe!"

An ambulance he hadn't noticed before was parked a bit beyond the tape and even though the lights were flashing, it was clear emergency services wouldn't be needed. Paramedics were moving a blanketed stretcher toward the back of the ambulance at an unhurried pace. Suddenly everything screamed at him to turn around, to spare himself the sight—but he couldn't and as one EMT climbed into the back of the car in order to assist the lift, the blanket shifted very slightly to reveal a flash of bright auburn hair…

He looked away.


End file.
